A Dream Come True
by WinterIsComing01
Summary: Eames has created a dream of rest and relaxation, his private place to clear his mind. What happens when the beautiful lounge singer of his fantasies finally steps off the stage? One-shot. Rated M for lemmmmmmony goodness.


Inspired by the film Inception and the character of Eames. Written to the soundtrack of Lana Del Rey's _Paradise_; specifically _Burning Desire, Yayo, Cola, Body Electric,_ and _Gods and Monsters_.

Lyric excerpts from: Yayo and Burning Desire by Lana Del Rey

**Dream Come True**

The construct was always the same; Eames always made sure no detail was spared.

It was always a smoky, tiny lounge, dimly lit. There were round two-person tables everywhere, topped with glowing votive candles. There were people, but they were faceless. Just bodies providing heat and a crowd.

And always, always, she was there. The singer.

It was his private, personal little haven, a dream he'd constructed strictly for himself. He came there all the time, as often as he could. It was his way to relax and to release. It was a little choppy, a little clunky; Eames didn't quite have Ariadne's architectural vision or Arthur's artistic flair for the dramatic. But it was his, and at the end of the day, _she_ was the only thing that mattered in the dream. And _she_ was perfect; he'd spent time on her, every single detail about her created with the utmost of care.

He slipped into the dream, his totem – a red poker chip – safely stowed in his suit pocket. He pushed through the rusted red door in his mind and entered the smoke-filled bar. It was a contemporary portrait of a jazz lounge in the 1940s. Men in three piece suits; women in pencil skirts and tall heels with pin-curled hair. The exact year wasn't clear in his mind. He knew it wasn't actually the '40s, but a stylized reflection of it. It didn't matter. It was a timeless time, just for him.

He took his favorite seat in the middle of the dark lounge. This time, he wanted the candles on the tables to be out, so they were. His scotch and a cigar were there and waiting for him. The only light in the room emitted from the stage area, where _she_ was up and already singing. He brought his cigar to his lips and puffed on it, then brought up his scotch. It was so good, the sharp burn so real on his tongue, he had to remove his chip from his pocket to make sure he was still in the dream; in his line of work, the line between reality and dream could easily, and sometimes did, get blurry. He rubbed the chip between his fingers, and like magic, more chips appeared, fanning out behind his totem before disappearing. Satisfied, he replaced it into his pocket and settled in. He was still dreaming. His eyes traveled to the stage.

_She_ was in her late twenties - twenty-eight, to be exact - but she looked so innocent, so sweet, she could pass for a college girl. Her eyes were wide and a bright, light hazel color, ringed with black; they twinkled and glimmered under the light just above the stage. Her dark hair was long, reaching the middle of her back, coaxed into huge, thick waves, falling over one eye like Veronica Lake. Her lips were full, pouty, and painted bright red. His eyes traveled lower. Her slender, soft curvy body was clad in a clingy, long red dress, slit to the thigh. The ruffled straps meant to sit on her shoulders hung down almost to her elbows, the bodice of the dress tight and low-cut. Her generous, well-proportioned cleavage pressed against the formed cups in the sweetheart neckline of her bodice enticingly. Her shapely leg moved into the light and he looked to make sure she still wore the strappy silver high-heeled sandals he'd chosen especially for her. She did, and her toenails were painted the same shade of bright red to match her lips and her dress and her fingernails.

The next song started; her low, throaty voice, which could easily move up into a higher, more girlish tone, whispered between her parted full red lips as her hands slipped up the microphone stand as though she were caressing a lover.

_"__I've got a burnin' desire for you, baby,"_ she crooned, and somehow in the dark, her eyes managed to find him like they always did. As the music swelled, she moved her arms gracefully, swaying to the melody. Her eyes closed, her long lashes casting shadows over her high cheekbones under the lights. Eames watched, mesmerized, as her lips formed the words of her songs, one after the other. Between verses her tongue would slip between her painted lips, running over the top one.

Eames knew it was a dream; that it had all been architectured and manicured by his own mind. But still, whenever he looked at her, he couldn't control his physical reactions. His body burned with desire for her; oftentimes when he woke from this dream, from one of _her_ shows, he would have to give himself a hand to get any release and relief. Her face, her body, always _her;_ she haunted him every night.

He glanced around, hoping no one could see how he was aroused for her as she began a new song. He wasn't sure if it was his imagination or not, but it seemed like there were less people in the dark, smoky lounge. Her voice began to croon hauntingly against a piano melody; her voice climbed from her normal low, raspy timbre to a much higher pitch. He could hardly make out the words, but he knew them anyway.

"_Put me onto your black motorcycle, fifties baby doll dress for my 'I do'; it only takes two hours to Nevada; I wear your sparkle, you call me your mama."_

Her head tilted as she sang the words, her voice echoing in the dim room. Her eyes shut and she swayed slowly. He glanced around again, noticing the room was emptier than it had been a moment ago. He frowned. How could this be? He had been very specific with his construct; moreover, things didn't just get up and walk away in one's dream.

He sipped some more scotch, returning his eyes to the singer, where they belonged. He was here for _her_ anyway.

"_Let me put on a show for you, daddy_," she sang, her eyes opening and finding his. He knew she couldn't see him, not really, but she was locking gazes with him anyway. "_Let me put on a show; Let me put on a show for you, tiger. Let me put on a show."_

This was new. She'd never sung these words before. Eames shifted in his seat uncertainly. Her voice was so high, so sweet, and so innocent; the words were laced with suggestive, seductive promise.

When he glanced around again, the lounge was totally empty. Not a person was left except the singer. He snapped his head back toward the stage. The singer was stepping down, walking toward him, and dragging her silver microphone stand with her as she continued to sing. She elegantly moved between the tables as she made her way toward him.

Eames' mouth fell open. This was completely unprecedented; this just did not happen. He'd constructed this dream for his own voyeuristic pleasure; there was not supposed to be any interaction, no matter how much he wanted it. What was happening? Was someone else in his dream, in his mind?

"_Let me put on a show for you, daddy_," she sang in a husky whisper. "_Let me put on a show_."

Before he knew what was happening, her hand slipped from the microphone stand and touched his face. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sensation, so shocked he was that he'd apparently lost complete control of his own dream.

She lowered herself onto his lap, still singing softly, the words brushing against his lips with every expelled breath. She kept singing, and he was so entranced by her haunting voice he barely noticed when her lips melded into his. The music, the singing, kept going but her lips were busy against his now. Her legs straddled either side of him, the slit allowing her long gown to part so he could touch the silky skin of her thigh. Her arms wrapped around his neck and finally, he gave her his tongue. She felt and tasted as real as anything he'd ever experienced in real life. His hand instinctively moved toward the pocket that housed his totem but her hand caught his, moving it up and placing it in her hair. He obliged her and tightened his fingers in her hair, the strands spilling between them as he tugged gently.

She moaned quietly into his mouth at the sensation and drew back slightly so she could meet his gaze. Her pale eyes were now dark with lust and hazy with want, and they mirrored everything he was feeling.

She stood up from his lap and took him by the hand, reaching down for his scotch. She drained all but one sip and brought the glass to his lips. He parted them for her and she tipped it, the amber contents pouring over his tongue. When the glass was empty she started leading him to the back of the club where there was another door in the brick wall.

By now Eames' head was spinning from her, the scotch, and confusion, but his desire for her was ruling everything as he watched her hips and backside move in the tight gown as she walked, swaying seductively from side to side. The last song she had sung was still playing throughout the club as if from a speaker, but he could only hear the piano's melody and her voice, no words. Since she wasn't singing herself, it was almost as though a recording of the song had been put on; but that wasn't possible, because he hadn't orchestrated the lounge to be that way, to do that.

She pushed open the door and led him down a short, dank hallway. At the end there was another door that she pushed through, leading into a small room.

Eames stood with her in the small space, where a mirrored vanity sat against one wall, a small table, a tiny, threadbare sofa. He realized this was her dressing room and felt another sense of shock. He'd never made a dressing room for her; he'd only made the lounge and the stage. Interestingly, the music didn't dim here; in fact, it seemed to grow louder.

She stepped toward him, dropping his hand. She pressed her body close to his and pushed the door shut behind him. She pressed up on her toes to bring her soft, full lips against his in a sweetly chaste kiss while her hands slipped to his waist, and then to his front. He groaned against her closed lips when her hand stroked his hardness through his pants. His hands gripped her waist tightly as she continued to touch him through the material of his slacks. She turned him slightly and gave him a little push backward until he toppled back onto the couch. She leaned over him, bracing her hands on his knees, and the angle gave him a peek at her delicious cleavage. She flicked her tongue out, licking his upper lip lightly, and he slid a hand into her hair to bring her mouth closer, deeper onto his. He loved the feeling of her plump lips against his; he'd never taken the mouth of someone with lips as full as his own before and the feeling was beyond description.

He teased her lips with his tongue, hoping hers would come out to meet his again. He got his wish as he felt it slide smoothly against his, pushing against it gently before twisting and pulling it back. Her talented tongue made him jerk tightly in his pants. She pulled away much too soon and Eames felt a wave of disappointment. He noticed that her painted mouth stayed perfectly red, unsmudged, and as he brushed his fingers to his own mouth, expecting to see them covered in her lipstick, he saw nothing was there.

She reached for a cushion from the couch and dropped it on the floor in front of him before lowering herself gracefully to her knees. Her hands with her delicate fingers reached forward and very gently started to pull the zipper of his pants down. He held his breath, watching, as she gently took him in hand, pulling him out toward her.

"Lay back and relax, daddy," she whispered. The word lingered in his ears, a reflection of the song she had sung to him. There was something deliciously wrong about her calling him _daddy_ and he knew he wanted to hear it again.

Her fingers could barely close around his thickness but her mouth glistened wetly at its corners and he realized she was salivating for him. The thought was so distractingly erotic that he jumped when he felt her tongue run the length of him on his underside and on his upper. She licked up and down his length before her moist, warm mouth closed around his head, her cheeks contracting hard around him. His eyes involuntarily rolled back and he cursed softly as his head dropped onto the back of the couch.

He had never experienced anything like her mouth before. Granted, this was his personally built dream, so it damned well better have been better than real life. But it felt so _real_, he was amazed.

She worked down his length, stroking him in tight, cylindrical motions with her hand as her mouth moved on him. She was taking him deeper and deeper and he felt his orgasm unfolding, his lower stomach warm and tight. He knew it wouldn't be long now; his fingers tightened in her hair. In real life, he would have issued a warning to his partner, but here, now, he wanted her to take all of him; he wanted to see her drink him down, lap him all up, and not let one drop go to waste.

When his throbbing, sensitive head hit her tonsils, he exploded, gushing warm seed over her tongue and straight down her throat. She hummed with pleasure and he opened his eyes to see her throat moving in a swallowing motion as she took everything he had to give her. Her pale eyes fastened onto him as she slowly withdrew him from her mouth. He watched as she brought a hand to her face, using the side of her index finger to swipe at her mouth where some of him had landed. Then, she slipped the finger in her mouth, her swollen red lips closing around it and slowly pulled it out from between her lips. Her delicate pink tongue flickered out, making a slow circuit around her lips to make sure she'd gotten it all. He didn't miss any of it, and it was so erotic he felt himself start to harden again.

"You're delicious, sugar," she murmured, her eyes crinkling at the outer corners. She rose from her knees, never taking her eyes off him. He wondered what she was up to next, and he couldn't wait to find out.

She stood in between his legs and propped one foot up on the sofa cushion. He watched as she reached for the slit in her dress, taking it in both hands.

"Let me put on a show for you, daddy," she sang quietly in her low, husky voice. She ripped the material up to create an even higher slit, revealing white lace panties under her dress. Eames sucked in his breath as she slipped two fingers under the seam of the delicate garment. He saw the outline of her fingers pressing back against the lace as she touched herself. She was inches away from his face as he leaned forward to get a good, close look. He decided to help her by taking each side of her panties in hand and tugging them down over her hips until they pooled around her ankles. She balanced a hand on his shoulder as she lifted each foot to completely free herself from them.

He could see everything now; see how she was smooth everywhere except for a neat little trimmed triangular shaped patch. She worked her fingers against herself, into herself, moaning softly as she watched him watch her. She _was_ putting on a show for him, indeed, and there was one part of him giving her a standing ovation. He leaned in, closer and closer, until the tip of his nose brushed her flesh. As she worked her fingers inside herself, his tongue slipped out, the tip of it finding her tiny, sweet nub at the top.

"Daddy," she gasped, trembling at the sensation and he looked up to make sure she liked it. He lapped against her deeply, reaching up to remove her fingers so he could replace them with his own, sucking her wetness off of them first before slipping a hand up her thigh to grip her hip to hold her steady in place. The other pumped two fingers in and out of her slowly as he licked against her. Inside, she was warm, tight, and so very, very moist. Despite the fact that he had just released down her throat a moment ago, his body begged for it again inside her. He paced himself and slowed the thrusts of his fingers and flicked his tongue rapidly against her sweet, hard little pearl.

One of her hands came to his shoulder and the other to the back of his head, pressing against it to encourage him further. He glanced up at her and saw her head was thrown back in ecstasy. Her soft, breathy moans filled the room, swelling with the still-playing music, and he licked and sucked against her, savoring her sweetness as it flowed over his tongue and filled his mouth. She started to sing out her moans, her voice trembling and vibrating; he could feel how her sweet tiny center was growing harder and swelling. With a few last swipes and flicks of his tongue, she burst inside his mouth, her sweetness cascading over his tongue as her knees buckled and she grabbed his shoulder to stay upright. He lowered her down to his lap, watching as her eyelids fluttered and her lips trembled. He barely let her catch her breath before he captured her lips with his own, his tongue buried deep in her mouth. Together, they tasted the essence of the other, their tongues melding and pushing and pulling gently at each other as they explored. Her sweetness was still on his tongue and mingled with his own essence still on hers.

Her hands slipped under his sports coat, pushing it from his shoulders before her fingers found the buttons of his shirt. He found the little hidden zipper at the back of her dress and pulled it down. She pulled away from him slowly and rose to her feet, her eyes never leaving him as she pulled the dress down, letting it drop to her ankles. She was completely nude except for the pair of high-heeled, silver sandals strapped to her feet. She stepped out from the pool of the dress around her feet and leaned over him to finish her work with his shirt. Her plump, generous breasts were in his face and as she continued to undress him, he drew each of her nipples into his mouth, one at a time, sucking against one while palming the other. He broke away only so she could pull his dress shirt from his shoulders and his white, snug undershirt over his head. He dipped his head to take her nipple again but she deftly stepped away, smiling naughtily, and reached down to completely pull off his pants and boxers, shoes and socks.

"Come here," he whispered, reaching out for her. She took his hand and straddled his lap again. He pulled her face down to his again, wanting her tongue. She gave it to him and his hands gripped her backside as she started to lower herself onto him. The tip of his head met her hot, wet center and they both gasped simultaneously. He watched her face as she tipped her head back and closed her eyes, biting her lip, as she bobbed slightly to take his entire length inside her, one inch at a time. He bit down the groans that regenerated with each bobbing movement of her hips, the feeling of becoming more and more deeply buried inside her tight, wet warmth almost overwhelming. He nearly lost it when her hips finally settled flush against his and his length was completely inside of her. She seemed to freeze with the last inch, unaccustomed to his length and thickness filling her, stretching her.

He opened his mouth to ask if she was all right but before the words could come out she slipped her tongue between his lips and started a slow, deep ride, her hips rolling against him deliciously as she thrust down hard on him. He lifted his hips slightly each time he bottomed out inside of her to deepen the thrust. His fingers dug into the soft, thick flesh of her rearend when he felt her squeeze tight around him. His lips moved from her mouth to her throat, running his tongue up and down its length, nibbling at her jugular vein. A light sheen of sweat had broken out over her skin as she trembled around him and he lapped up what he could, wanting her scent and flavor all over him forever.

She was thrusting harder, faster now, her pale eyes hazy with lust and her red lips parted silently. He knew she was close by the dazed look in her eyes so he thrust back as hard as he could, meeting each of her downstrokes with gusto. He held her body in place, her arms braced on the back of the sofa, and thrust upward, over and over, until finally he heard her soft gasping cry, felt her shudder and clench around him tightly, so tightly it made him clench his jaw hard. He took some deep breaths to hold it together while she moved slightly, whimpering through her aftershocks. He was letting her have a short break, but he was far from finished with her.

He stood up and carried her to the little table across the room, setting her down on the surface with her back flat against the top. Her light, black-ringed hazel eyes were glazed over as she sat up and reached for his face, her swollen lips moving against his and drawing his bottom lip between her teeth. She smiled mischievously up at him before he felt a sharp, stinging pain, and tasted copper. When she drew back slightly, a little of his blood was on her lips and she lapped it up before returning for more, her tongue swiping gently over the wound she'd made. It only stoked his internal fire, though, and he reached down to wrap her silky legs around his waist and slowly worked himself inside her again, loving each of her gasps as he gave her a little more. He pressed a hand to her chest and made her lay flat on her back. Her stiletto heel dug into his backside but the pain only spurred him on as he leaned into her. Every thrust made the little table shake and rattle, its legs trembling precariously as their bodies slammed together with every hard thrust he gave. She reached up for him and leaned up on her elbows as he bent over her, his forehead meeting her shoulder. She whined softly in his ear, her tongue flicking out at his earlobe before her teeth sank hard into his collarbone. He grunted with a confusing mixture of pleasure and pain, capturing her lips hard and giving her a bite of his own. She squealed but threw her arms around his neck, pulling him in close as he hit deeply inside of her. Her breaths started coming in short, hard little pants and her eyes took on that glassy, dazed look. He knew she was close again and loved it.

"Again, darling," he whispered in her ear. "Do it for me."

Her eyes fell shut at his words, her mouth falling open silently as he continued to stroke. She fell on her back again and he watched her intently, deriving his pleasure from watching hers unfold. Watching her come was one of the most erotic, beautiful things he'd ever seen and he wanted to see it, over and over again. Suddenly her brow furrowed and she took a tremendous, shuddery breath before arching her back with a wail. He dipped his head, teething one of her nipples hard as she came.

He grabbed her wrists and pulled her up, her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed, her breath hitched and hard. He carried her to the vanity and slowly turned her around so that her back was to his chest. For a moment he lowered his head to press his lips to her shoulder, his hands roaming over her smooth skin, her rounded breasts, dipping between her legs to find her hot and wet still, ready for more. He pressed a hand to her back, silently directing her, and she bent over the vanity, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He used one hand to press up on one full, plump cheek of her backside, parting her, the other hand guiding himself inside her again. He watched her face in the mirror, how her eyes fell closed when he entered her fully, new warmth and wetness gushing around him as he buried himself in the tight depths of her walls. He was lost for a moment with the way her backside looked pressed against his pelvis and became entranced with the sight of his own engorged, throbbing member sliding in and out of her, shining and slicked with her wetness.

He looked into the mirror again, watching the hard, rigid muscles of his abdomen clench and contract with every thrust, every burst of pleasure. He slid one hand up her back and into her hair, tugging on it hard. Her head snapped back with the motion but she only groaned in pleasure, pressing herself back out toward him. He gripped a handful of her rear, the supple, tanned flesh bursting between his fingers, his other hand gripping her shoulder through her hair. She clutched the vanity as he thrust into harder, the rickety wooden frame shaking and attached mirror wobbling. Her eyes were glued to him in the mirror, her full lower lip between her teeth as she watched him work into her from behind her. He couldn't look away from her face either, his hands moving to her slender waist to hold her down and still as he pumped into her hard.

"Yes, daddy," she whispered, her brow furrowing again as her lips parted. The word caused flames of pure, hot arousal to shoot through him, ratcheting his internal temperature to an insanely high level. Her eyes squeezed shut and her head tilted back. "Yes," she moaned again, a little louder, the encouragement spurring him on. With a tiny, soft whimper she burst again, her body wracking with tremors. He saw the satisfied smile on his own face as he thrust through her aftershocks, making her breath catch and her whines grow louder.

"I want you to come for me, daddy," she whispered, meeting his eyes with her own lusty, heavy-lidded ones.

"As you wish," he whispered back, scooping her up. He pressed her back to his chest, leaning forward against the edge of the vanity. He was still inside her and he grabbed her throat as her head fell back against his shoulder. He squeezed her throat gently as he nibbled her earlobe and pressed his lips to the pulse in her neck as his other hand reached for her breasts. He moved her back to the sofa, throwing her on her back with a playful smile before crawling over her. She spread her legs for him immediately, one leg rising to rest on the back of the couch, the other hanging off with one high-heeled foot on the floor. He moved over her, his lips closing around the nipple of one breast, sucking and flicking his tongue against it for a long moment. He licked up her sternum and swirled his tongue against the hollow of her throat before licking straight up, under her chin, to plunge his tongue into her mouth. Her hands flew to his head, her fingers playing in his hair as their lips melded together, their tongues meeting in a slow, delicious tango.

"Come on in, daddy," she whispered, smiling against his lips. His mouth dropped to her breast again, sucking against her nipple as he slowly moved into her, his eyes closing against the welcoming sensation of her tight walls stretching just enough to let him in before gripping him tightly again, and her sharp gasp cut through the room as he filled her again. He opened his eyes slightly to look down into her face, one hand slipping into her hair. Her beautiful pale golden eyes were hooded and sparkling, her red lips parted to allow her low, heavy moans room to pass. She stared up at him as he moved in and out of her, rolling his hips into her hard, making sure to bottom out with each stroke. Her legs came to wrap around his waist, her hands hooking under his arms to come up to his shoulders. She squeezed down around him and he growled with pleasure at the sensation.

"Tell me your name, darling," he whispered, his breathing ragged. He looked down into her glimmering eyes. "Please."

"True," she breathed back. "They call me True."

He'd never heard that as a name before; it wasn't one he would have thought to give her. In fact, he'd never given her a name. She'd always just been "the singer."

"True," he murmured, stroking into her strongly. His thrusts picked up speed and the room was filled with the sounds of ragged breathing, low moans and skin meeting skin. He felt it uncoiling in his stomach; he'd managed to hold back for so long and now he was on the cusp of exploding. She could sense it, reaching up to pull his face toward hers. Her pale eyes focused on him intently, her tongue sweeping her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Yes, sugar," she breathed. "Come for me, daddy." Her words ended in a throaty moan as he stroked insistently, strongly, every part of him tightening up as he prepared for his release. He leaned his forehead against hers, eyes squeezing shut as he lazily took her mouth in his.

"Look at me," she begged in a whisper. "Look at me when you come." He snapped his eyes open and gazed into hers, taking her lips again but maintaining the eye contact. He felt her breath increase through her nose suddenly and her teeth sunk into his lip, nipping hard as she peaked yet again, moaning into his mouth. Her eyes opened wide as her body shook and she whimpered against his lips. "Daddy," she whined.

He couldn't handle it anymore; at her final breathy moan, saying that _word_, he burst inside of her with a deep, ragged groan, staring into her eyes, stroking through his orgasm as his seed flowed into her. It was so strong he blacked out for an instant, growling deep in his chest as she milked him with her walls for all he was worth.

"Yes, that's it," she whispered. "Let me have it all."

His lips dropped onto hers and he kissed her, slow and deep, his thrusts slowing as his heartbeat approached something close to normal. Her hands stroked up and down his back, her fingertips like silk against his back, sending little shivers rippling over his skin.

"Go to sleep, now," she murmured in his ear, her arms tightening around him. "Sleep."

Wrapped in her arms, nuzzling her neck, he slipped into a warm, sweet repose. It was like sinking into a tub of warm water; comforting, restful.

:O:O:O:

He had no idea how long he'd been out but he suddenly jerked awake. For a moment, he was confused. He was still in his constructed dream; still in the tiny dressing room. True was nowhere to be seen. He glanced down. He was still nude; the room still smelled of sex and felt thick and humid with body heat.

He reached for his sports coat, his fingers going to the pocket. He pulled his red poker chip out and gripped it tightly in his palm.

Just then the door opened and True stepped inside, holding two glasses with amber liquid. She was still nude too. She crossed the room toward him and sat down, handing him a glass.

"What…" he started, and then shook his head. "How is this…possible?"

"How is what possible, sugar?" she replied, taking a sip of her drink.

"You…and me," he whispered, looking into her eyes. "I – I created this. This couldn't happen."

"I gave you what you wanted, what you _needed_, daddy," she whispered back. "That's all." She leaned forward and wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, kissing him deeply, slowly. He could taste the scotch on her tongue and sucked it into his mouth, wanting more.

She pulled away and stroked his cheek gently. "_I've got a burnin' desire for you, baby,"_ she sang softly, throatily. She slowly finished her drink, draining it all, and stood up, heading for the door.

It was too real. He looked down at the chip still in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers, waiting for the chip to multiply like magic. Nothing happened. He rubbed it again, his brow furrowing. _What is happening?_ he thought.

"I'll see you real soon, daddy," True whispered from the doorway. He snapped his head up and she was dressed again in her gown, her hair smoothed, ready to take the stage once more. He stood up quickly.

"No, don't leave, please," Eames said, reaching out for her. Her full, cherry red lips curved gently into a smile and she stepped out of the room. The door should have shut quietly based on her slow, forceless movements, but when it shut, the slamming noise it made echoed so loud, so hard in his head he sat down, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping his head.

When he looked up, he was back in his own bed, in his own reality, in his own clothing. He froze for a moment, and then reached into his pocket for his chip. He slammed it down on his nightstand and rubbed his finger over it. It stayed the same and he leaned back against his headboard, feeling like he might be losing his mind.

He slipped his jacket off his shoulders and moved to toss it over a chair in the corner when a rustling noise from the pocket met his ears. He reached into the other pocket and found a folded note. He opened it, seeing the bright red lipstick mark of a kiss pressed into the center.

"Let me put on a show for you, daddy." He read it aloud, his eyes falling to the corner of the page. It was signed, "Your Dream Come True."

He set the note down next to the chip, sinking back onto the edge of his bed, his head spinning. He didn't know how it was possible that his dream could have turned into reality, but the totem never lied. It had multiplied in the club but not in the dressing room. He reached into the drawer of his nightstand and pulled a hand mirror out. He held it up and pulled his lower lip out slightly. His eyes widened when he saw the tiny, fresh wound on his lip – made by the overzealous bite of a passionate lover. He slowly lowered the mirror and replaced it in his drawer.

After a long moment, he picked up the note and read it again. A slow smile crossed his face. He'd be seeing her show again very soon.


End file.
